


Almost there

by Captain_Jowl



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 4x09, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Explicit Sexual Content, Gap Filler, Hotel Sex, Kinda, Kink Exploration, Light Bondage, M/M, Mickey is very gay and in love, Overcoming Internalized Homophobia, POV Mickey Milkovich, Porn with Feelings, that hotel scam, with the help of handcuffs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 03:09:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20557232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Jowl/pseuds/Captain_Jowl
Summary: After getting Ian back Mickey almost comes to terms with his sexuality but still doesn't feel safe expressing it. He finds an unexpected solution when he gets his hands on a pair of handcuffs while scaming an older pervert together with Ian.***If Mickey thought that letting Ian kiss him, worship his body or whatever sappy things Gallagher always wanted to do to him is too gay... Being the one enjoying other boy's body, wanting to trail his tongue over the hard abs, scrape his teeth over the sharp hipbones and actually take his time touching those long-ass legs he has been drooling over since they first fucked? That was even more fucking gay.Great Russian translation from the great Jane McArrow: https://ficbook.net/readfic/9881972.





	Almost there

**Author's Note:**

> So the idea was that at the end of S4 Mickey is close to accepting his sexuality but still can't let himself go, so he uses the handcuffs kinda as a safety buffer to unleash all his pent up, hm, homosexual energy on Ian. Let's see how it translates.
> 
> Set in 4x9, right after the scene with that dude at the hotel. I know that there're several fics exploring the same scenario. This is my take on it. With added handcuffs :)
> 
> P.S. I never wrote that before cause I'm bad, but big thanks to you guys (you all know who you are :D) for taking turns to beta my stuff. I'm very grateful <3

The old fuck only has three hundred bucks in his bank account. What the fuck.

“This a fuckin’ joke?” Mickey asks, staring at the number on the screen of the ATM with his eyebrows raised. “You go bankrupt last week or something, grandpa?”

“You think I’m stupid enough to walk around with my main credit card?” the man chuckles. How cocky can you be after taking a knee to the balls? Fucker.

“Stupid enough to try and fuck an underage boy,” mutters Mickey through gritted teeth. The thought makes him sick and he suppresses the urge to punch the guy in the face one more time. “Get me the money and let’s get this over with, fuckin’ tired of seeing your wrinkled face.”

The man rolls his eyes and starts typing away on the machine. In a minute he is handing him two hundred and fifty bucks.

Mickey sighs. Rubs his eyebrow with a knuckle. “You testing my patience today, huh?”

The man shrugs. “That’s all I can get now. I already reached the limit for tonight.”

He doesn’t look like he is telling bullshit. Mickey looks up at the night sky and contemplates life as it is for a second. When he suggested making a trip to an ATM machine he was expecting to get enough to cover at least two of Ian’s shifts at the club, so Gallagher could rest and Mickey could get some money for Svetlana. In reality, it wasn’t nearly as much as he expected. At least he could pawn the dude’s fancy watch and the smartphone. It will calm the bitch for some time.

He grabs the money and shoves it in his pocket. “Got any more cash on you?” Mickey asks and starts checking the old dude’s coat. The latter just raises his arms, accepting his fate for the night. Good. There is a folded twenty behind one of the zippers. Mickey takes it but keeps patting him down until he feels something solid in the inside pocket. In hopes for another smartphone he reaches in but his fingers feel a totally different object.

Mickey fishes the thing out and exposes it to the street lamp light. Handcuffs. The dude had handcuffs in his pocket. Not some cheap aluminum crap with pink fluff on them like Mickey once found in Mandy’s room. No. These cuffs are made of black leather, wide and soft on the inside. The hooks on the locks are secure. The chain is also black, long enough to slide through the bars of the headboard or whatever, but not too long to leave much room for moving around. Real kinky shit. Something you search for online and then order in an undistinguished package, so your wife doesn’t ask questions.

What was this sick fuck’s plan? Was he going to hurt Ian? 

Mickey imagines this old man looking at Ian at the bar. Noticing Ian’s lean figure and sweet face. Pink lips. Narrow waist. Fantasizing about him being helpless and at his mercy in those black cuffs. Deciding that this _twink_ was the one he was going to do weird shit to tonight.

The boy’s stomach turns and he pushes the pervert in the chest so hard that he stumbles backwards and almost falls down.

“Fucking hell!..“

“You have one second to get the fuck away from me before I break both of your kneecaps,” says Mickey, trying to breathe through his nose. He isn’t kidding, but he also doesn’t want to start a fight that close to the hotel. 

“You gonna give those back?” the man asks, nodding at the handcuffs in Mickey’s hand. The fact that the fucking perv is more worried about his sex toy than his phone sets Mickey on edge.

“I said get the fuck out of here!” he yells and spits in the man’s general direction. He is close to seeing red and beating the shit out of the asshole. The old fuck flips him off and hurries away from the hotel, swearing up a storm. 

Mickey doesn’t watch him go. He puts the handcuffs in the pocket, almost absentmindedly, and takes out a pack of cigarettes. He smokes. He takes his time, puffing out the smoke towards the dark grey sky, trying to erase the old man’s face from his memory and get rid of the disgusting feeling in his stomach. Then he goes back to the hotel.

* * *

When Mickey enters the hotel room, Ian is lounging in the fancy chair. His eyes are closed, a glass filled with what seems to be whiskey in his hand. His phone is on the table near the opened bottle from a mini-bar, music coming from the speakers. Nothing like what they play at the White Swallow. Ian’s music is softer and much more melancholic. It reminds Mickey of the times they got high in the dugouts and Ian insisted on listening to some weird indie bands he liked.

Is it still the same band he used to listen to before he left? Is it his favorite one? (Why the fuck does he want to know? To steal Ian an album for his birthday? Fucking concert tickets? Stupid.)

Ian is still shirtless; his bare feet are kicked up on the table, fingers drumming a beat on the table surface, a familiar habit. Some tension leaves Mickey’s body and he smiles. It is dumb. It is completely dumb. But Ian’s legs are so long and the red fan of eyelashes casts a shadow against his skin. Mickey’s heart clenches in a weird way. It feels like he has been watching Ian a lot lately. Ian … Ian is fucking beautiful. He just is.

Mickey wants to tell him that.

“You know that costs a shitton, right?” he says instead.

Ian flinches and opens his eyes, startled. He smiles when he sees Mickey, feeling at ease in his presence. Huh.

“Albert paid for it in advance,” he shrugs and swirls whiskey in the glass. “Told him I like to drink after a good fuck.”

Mickey hums. Albert. Of course his name is fucking Albert. Of course Gallagher would make sure to find out the dude’s name.

He grabs the glass from Ian’s hand and takes a gulp. Not too much, but just enough.

“So?” Ian prompts.

Mickey nods approvingly.

“Fuckin’ smooth. What is it, some Irish shit?” He takes the bottle and turns it, searching for the label.

“No, Mick,” Ian laughs. “How did it go with Albert?”

Mickey takes another long drink, right from the bottle. Puts it back on the table. “We’re up, but we better think of something else next week,” he answers. “Grandpa only had a couple of hundreds.” 

“It still paid off though,” Ian is surprisingly positive. His smile is relaxed as he puts hands behind his head. “Can stay home tomorrow. Plus, Iggy can sell his shit.”

“Then we’ll have to share with him. Fuck no, I’ll do it myself,” says Mickey distractedly. Ian’s biceps are bulging and Mickey’s gaze is drawn to his body in the most primal way. Ian is… He’s just so…

Mickey is suddenly aware of the fact that he is still standing in the middle of the room with his coat on. He takes it off and throws it on the table. A loud cling of metal follows.

“What’s that?” Ian asks and Mickey swears internally. Right. Why did he even take them?

He digs through his coat and produces the damned sex toy.

Ian’s eyes go wide. “Woah.” He sits up.

“Yeah,” Mickey confirms.

“Where did you get those?” Ian reaches out and Mickey hands him the handcuffs.

“They were in the old fart’s pocket,” answers Mickey. Ian doesn’t ask him why he took them. He also doesn’t seem to be concerned that those could have been used on him.

“Fucking dominant tops, huh?” the younger boy chuckles. Mickey watches Ian’s fingers run along the chain, probe at the hooks. He doesn’t notice that he’s holding his breath until he glances up and meets Ian’s inquisitive look. Ian studies him for a second.

“Wait,” he says. “You’re into this shit, right?”

Mickey rubs his bottom lip. Maybe he is, he thinks. Maybe the porn he managed to get his hands on sometimes included a bottom being restrained, put into different positions, played with… Mickey feels his cheeks heating up. Maybe he is. And he will shoot himself in the leg before he admits it.

But as usual, Ian doesn’t need his words. He looks Mickey up and down, considering.

“The room is paid off for the night, you know,” he says.

Mickey knows this.

He keeps looking at Ian. Ian smiles at him like he knows a secret. Or, more accurately, every single one of Mickey’s fucking secrets. When Mickey doesn’t say anything, Ian turns to look at the solid wooden headboard and frowns. He stands up and gets on the bed, crawls forward and pulls up the mattress at the top. 

“Can’t do anything with the headboard, but I can kinda loop the chain behind the slats here. If I could just…”

Mickey watches Ian’s ass, watches his back muscles flex as he fights with the mattress. It looks fucking good, the warm light casting a glow on Ian’s skin and showcasing all the dips of the broad freckled shoulders. Mickey has never had an opportunity to look at Ian naked in a good lighting. It has always been either moonlight in the dugouts, shitty single light bulbs of their rooms or the flashing semi-darkness of a night club. The rare times they spent together in other places were hurried, with Mickey turning his back to Ian, feeling him but never watching or touching.

And he wanted to. God, he wanted to.

But if he thought that letting Ian kiss him, worship his body or whatever sappy things Gallagher always wanted to do to him is too gay... Being the one enjoying other boy's body, wanting to trail his tongue over the hard abs, scrape his teeth over the sharp hipbones and actually take his time touching those long-ass legs he has been drooling over since they first fucked? That was even more gay. Girly fucking thoughts. If dad only knew…

But he doesn’t. No one knows where they are.

Ian is still saying something when Mickey makes a decision. The faint buzz of alcohol doesn’t help to prevent the words from escaping his lips.

“I want you to be in the handcuffs,” Mickey says, interrupting Ian in the middle of a sentence.

Ian stops in his tracks and turns to look at him.

“You want to fuck me?” He is smiling again, cocky, borderline condescending. He has been smiling at Mickey that way ever since he came back.

“No, I… I just want you to be in the handcuffs, man,” Mickey shifts his legs. The thought of Ian being restrained while Mickey familiarizes himself with his body anew gives the older boy a sense of safety. He is just being kinky like that. Being kinky doesn’t mean being too gay, does it?

“Okay,” Ian answers. Licks his lips. The smile disappears from his face, leaving the traces of confusion and anticipation on his expression. It feels good to see that, because the last time Mickey asked for something like this…

_How is that fun for me?_

“How do you want me?” Ian’s tone isn’t teasing. He is asking what Mickey wants.

“You said you could get the chain under the slats?”

“Already did,” Ian tugs on one cuff to show Mickey that it is secured. His eyes don’t leave Mickey’s face, sparkling with interest.

“Lay back,” Mickey says and peels off the sweater just to do something, distract Ian from his nervousness. 

“Should I?..” Ian gestures at his jeans and makes a move to unzip them.

“Lay back,” Mickey repeats. Ian looks at him, searches for something in his eyes.

Then he scoots back, so his legs are not hanging from the bed, and lies down. 

Mickey climbs onto the bed and throws one leg over Ian’s hips, straddling him. The cuffs are lying on either side of Ian. The mechanism is different from the regular police handcuffs Mickey knows so well, but it’s not the first time Mickey has had to tie a person down. He clasps the cuffs around Ian’s wrists, fastens the hooks, makes sure it is tight enough, but not too much. The black chain tinkles slightly as Ian tenses his arms, testing the limits of his freedom. The sound is almost drowned by the music still coming from the phone.

When Mickey finally glances down, Ian is looking at him with his big eyes and an awed expression that reminds him of the very first time they fucked. _Pretty._ The flash-like thought, exactly like the first time, several years ago. He remembers how startled he was by it, confused after seeing Gallagher’s face up close, under him. Like some girl falling for a cute boy. 

The cute boy is under him again and he is still fucking pretty. Mickey sees just how green Ian’s eyes are, with splatters of golden around the dilated pupils. His juvenile features gave way to sharp masculine angles, but freckles and impossibly pink lips give a touch of innocence to Ian’s appearance, even with his arms stretched out to each corner of the bed. Those lips… Mickey knows how good they taste.

Ian kissed Mickey that day, after Mickey sucked his dick. He slid on the floor, on his knees, where Mickey has been sitting between his thighs. He licked into Mickey's messy and tired mouth, sharing the salty taste of his own release. He kissed him and looked at him, and there was this open wonder in his eyes, like he couldn't believe Mickey found him and proved something to him on the dirty floor of Gallaghers' bedroom.

Mickey kissed Ian in the club, in front of everyone. Everyone could see how much Mickey wanted, how he melted into Ian's touch. How far gone he is for that gorgeous boy. How gay he is. But he still fucking kissed him, both a challenge and a relief. A long and real full-body kiss, Ian's sinful mouth devouring him, proving him wrong, showing him, promising him all the things.

Those have been their first kisses since the day of Mickey’s wedding. And it is not nearly enough, not with the way Ian watches Mickey watching him right now, silently, eyes wide, chest heaving.

Ian licks his lips dewy, shifts his gaze to Mickey’s mouth. Mickey leans down.

_They are alone. He can let go. Let Ian in._

Mickey kisses him. It is slower than ever. There is a gasp. Soft exhale, expensive whiskey between their tongues. Sliding, tasting.

The music from Ian’s phone stops abruptly as the playlist comes to an end. The room sinks into a sudden silence and the sound of them kissing seems deafening on the contrast. It is scary and exciting. Anyone could hear them. They are being so loud. But they are safe. They have time, a big soft bed and a fucking lock on the door. There is no one to stop them from panting, grinding, slotting their lips, swirling their tongues and doing whatever the fuck they want. It is perfect.

Mickey pulls away way too soon and Ian makes an impatient sound. Tries to follow Mickey’s lips, strains the chain, falls back with a huff. But Mickey wants more than just Ian's mouth. He has always been so careful to never let on exactly how much he likes all this – strong arms, hard chest and big hands. But that is the whole point, right? The handcuffs. The opportunity to admire a man’s body, _Ian’s body_, uninterrupted. Why can’t he still relax and have his fill of looking, touching, exploring?

It’s Ian’s eyes, he realizes. Ian is watching him, and he feels fucking shy and vulnerable in his curiosity.

“Can you maybe… close your eyes?” Mickey questions. “ ’s kinda weird.”

Ian frowns. “Wanna watch you. You can still do whatever you want.”

But Mickey can’t, not under Ian’s kind understanding gaze.

“Promise me you will keep your eyes closed,” Mickey insists. “I won’t do anything creepy.”

“Know you won’t,” Ian sounds offended. “Just…” He pauses.

Mickey gets it. He wants to watch Ian too, every moment they are together. And still, he covers Ian’s eyes with his palm. Ian huffs again, but when Mickey takes his hand away, Ian’s eyes stay closed. Mickey stills for a couple of seconds, watching Ian’s eyelids, expecting another objection. When it doesn’t come, Mickey finally rakes his eyes over Ian’s whole body and bites his lip. Fuck. There are so many things he has never done but wanted, caught himself daydreaming about. Hated himself for wanting. He can do them now, can’t he? Ian's eyes are closed and Mickey has a chance to look and touch without fear of Ian seeing him so undone by his eagerness. 

But before Mickey can settle on what part of Ian to touch first, it hits him.

All those men at the club. Gross older men groping Ian, feeling him up, drooling, fantasizing. Like Albert, who Mickey took these handcuffs from. Fucking Albert wanted Ian restrained and helpless, writhing around on the bed. Wanted to use Ian’s body for his own perverted pleasure.

_Least you could do is have the twink suck me off._

And now Mickey is so eager to get to Ian’s body, too. How is he different? Is it only the age?

No. No, it’s not.

Yes, Mickey always liked Ian's body. Hell, in his judgment it is a work of gods, not that he would ever say it aloud. And Mickey would gladly use this body for his own pleasure.

_That all you think he is? Some twink?_

But Mickey also knows that this is Ian. A sweet and sensitive kid, who can be a badass motherfucker sometimes. A loyal and fucking stubborn asshole – Ian Gallagher.

Fuck, he missed him. All those months, the only thought in his head, on the loop. Ian. _IanIanIan._

And yes, he also wants Ian restrained and helpless, writhing around on the bed in those fucking cuffs. But for an entirely different reason. This is different. He’s not like them. He’s not.

“Mickey?..”

Ian’s husky voice gets him out of his head and he realizes that he froze in his movements. Ian’s delicate eyebrows are knotted, so Mickey puts a finger on his forehead, smoothing out his worry. He trails his finger lower, over the freckles on Ian’s cheekbone down to his mouth, feeling the younger boy’s face muscles relaxing under his touch. Ian makes a move as if he wants to touch Mickey, his arms getting tense, and then sighs with defeat. Mickey tracks the bulge of a blue vein straining against Ian’s pale skin, from the bicep up to the cuffed wrist. Ian’s arms are fucking strong. Always were, when he gripped Mickey's hips, pulling him back, taking him from behind. But now he got even more bulked up and it is fucking hot.

Mickey shifts, gripping both Ian's wrists right under the cuffs, pins them down to the mattress tentatively. There is a sharp intake of breath; Mickey thinks that he can feel Ian's fast pulse under the tight grip. He shifts again, grinding his ass over Ian’s crotch, denim over denim. An unmistakable hardness there makes Mickey smile, satisfied. He could be into this. It is nice to feel this kind of power. He imagines Ian doing the same to him and shivers. Another time…

He glides his hands down Ian’s arms and back up to his wrists, enjoying the feel of strong muscles under his palms. There is an impulse, and Mickey gives in and puts his lips to the tender skin on the underside of Ian's bicep. He pauses and then licks at it, feels it tensing under his tongue, hears a gasp. Startled by his own action, he pulls away and looks at Ian to grasp his reaction. Ian breathes heavily, lips parted, no traces of teasing on his face. Mickey calms down. Ian’s skin is so soft and Mickey has wanted to do this for so long. He leans down again and bites in softly, teeth grazing the skin, then licks at the visible mark. Ian's gasp is louder this time. His arms tense again, eyelids flutter, threatening to open. 

"Eyes closed," Mickey reminds him and bites in again, sucks and licks at the sensitive skin with more confidence. He does the same with the other arm, listening to Ian's quickening inhales. Ian’s armpits are shaved for the eyes of the nasty perverts at the White Swallow. Mickey can’t remember Ian shaving before. He misses the untouched red hair, probably for the same reason he likes Ian’s fiery pubes. Ian smells good, deodorant over his natural scent, familiar but muskier than before. Mickey fucking likes it. There is a thought. Would it be too weird to nuzzle at Ian's armpit? He smacks himself mentally. Yeah, that’d be too fucking weird. That boy makes him want to do weird fucking things, jesus.

He goes for Ian's throat instead. He has to force himself to not leave any hickeys, going for licks and kisses instead. Ian throws his head back, exposing the finely-chiseled jawline and the soft skin of his neck. Mickey attacks it with affectionate bites, making Ian squirm and turn his head to give Mickey access to more and more places.

“Oh fuck,” he whispers when Mickey finds a particularly sensitive spot, and Mickey has to adjust his dick, so it doesn’t strain against the zipper. He comes back to Ian’s lips to steal an open-mouthed kiss and then goes down, all the way to his collarbones. Ian’s broad chest is solid against his own, heaving with excited breaths. Mickey runs his palms all over it, mapping out the skin.

Fuck, he thinks. He is so fucking gay and this boy under him feels so good, smells so fucking good, reacts to his every movement and rolls his hips, humping Mickey’s ass. Mickey is getting high on the feel and the taste of flesh, his hormones raging. It is so fucking hot and Mickey feels like growling as he grinds back on Ian’s crotch.

One of Mickey’s hands swipes over the nipple and he hears a muffled swear. Curious, he teases at both of Ian’s nipples with purpose, pinching and rolling them between his fingers. Gallagher has to have the prettiest fucking nipples Mickey has ever seen on a guy, all nice and pink. They also are as sensitive as they look, judging by the way Ian pants and strains the chain while Mickey plays with them. Mickey remembers how close to coming he gets every time Ian does it to him, so he shifts lower and licks at the aroused nubs. Ian groans and bucks his hips.

"God, Mick," he breathes, sounding drunk. “So good...”

Mickey hums, because yes, it is fucking _good_. He sits back and admires the sweet blush on Ian’s cheeks and chest. He probably looks the same himself, with messy hair and wild eyes, horny as a dog. His body feels hot all over, so he tugs his t-shirt up over his head. He lowers himself down and presses his own chest to Ian’s. The burst of electricity where their bodies touch is instant, and they both groan at the contact.

“Kiss me, oh my god, kiss me,” pleads Ian hotly and Mickey rushes to slot their lips together. They are kissing and humping again and Mickey thinks he should probably take their jeans off before one of them blows his load, but then he lowers his eyes and gets mesmerized by the sight of Ian’s flexing abs. He rubs a palm over the hard stomach and feels his dick twitch. That body, goddamn.

The new tattoo on Ian’s ribcage would look cheesy on anyone, but of course Gallagher makes it work. (Hell, he manages to look gorgeous in golden booty shorts and a tie, so it’s not a surprise.) Mickey crawls down his body and trails the lines of the tattoo with his tongue. Ian’s stomach muscles start trembling at this, and Mickey moves to lick at the abdomen and down, to the captivating V of his hipbones. The smell of Ian’s arousal is stronger here, and Mickey feels himself getting impatient. He is not used to dragging it out. He needs to get them naked, now.

His fingers make a quick work on the zipper of Ian’s jeans, Ian lifting his hips with eager. Mickey fumbles a bit, trying to slide both remaining pieces of clothing over Ian’s ass, but the result is worth it as Gallagher immediately spreads his long legs in the most deliciously slutty way. Mickey grins at that, licks his lips. The redhead’s big hard dick is absolutely mouthwatering. Mickey needs it in him. But there is just one more thing he wants to do first, touch Ian for a little bit longer. He wraps his hands around Ian’s ankles, slides them up to the muscled calves and then glides over the faint red hairs of his thighs, in and upward, stopping right at the junctures of the pelvis. 

“Look fuckin’ hot, Gallagher,” Mickey says and catches Ian’s responding grin.

“Fucking touch me,” Ian asks, barely hiding his desperation, eyes still shut. 

Mickey reaches around and gets a handful of his small tight ass, squeezing and groping, avoiding his dick just to be an asshole.

“Mickey,” Ian moans and spreads his legs even farther apart, exposing himself without a hint of self-consciousness. Mickey rakes his eyes over Ian’s whole tense, sweat-sheen body and grins at the thought of _what would fifteen-years-old Mickey think if he knew that he would get to have sex with such a hot fucking guy_? That Mickey would come in his fucking pants, that’s what.

He spits in his palm and takes a hold of the flushed and leaking dick in front of him. Ian’s breath hitches as Mickey gives it a few tugs. He looks so fucking wanton, with black leather cuffs on his wrists, his legs wide and bent as he starts fucking into Mickey’s hand with breathy moans. Sexy bastard. Mickey’s own erection is borderline painful, and he palms himself through the denim. He needs to figure out how to get Ian’s dick in his ass, right fucking now.

The answer is obvious. He needs to get on top. The problem is that Mickey has never ridden him. Not once. He wanted to, was really close to doing it that night before everything went to shit, but that night… Ian was _looking_ at him, couldn't stop kissing him, couldn't let go of him even for a second, and Mickey didn’t protest when Ian settled between his thighs.

But he is ready now.

Is he?

He is. He will be able to control how fast, how deep they go. He can find the best angle to fuck the cum out of himself with Gallagher’s cock. And Gallagher is going to absolutely explode.

The last thought makes Mickey smile.

“Gonna fuckin’ ride you,” he states before he can pussy out.

Ian stills. Almost holds his breath. “Fuck _yes_, Mickey, oh my god,” he nods frantically and a bead of precum leaks out the head of his cock.

Encouraged by Ian’s reaction, Mickey jumps from the bed, unbuckling his belt on the way, and rummages through his coat for the lube. After finding it, he strips, sighing in relief as his erection springs free. He feels giddy. He casts a glance at Ian, noticing his furrowed brow. Gallagher is all concentration, all senses and his body. Turned on, curious, waiting for Mickey’s next move. Just like it always was before he left.

Mickey climbs over him again, letting out a groan when Ian’s slick cock glides against his. He gets on his knees, coats his fingers with lube and starts working on loosening himself. 

“Mickey, are you?..” Ian gasps and balls his fists. “Let me see you. _Please_, fuck, wanna watch you.”

Mickey smiles at Ian’s distress, excitement tugging at the base of his spine. He hastily presses two fingers in, pushing the lube further into.

“No, keep your eyes closed,” he says.

Ian whimpers, hands tugging against the handcuffs keeping him in place, but complies. Mickey is pumping his fingers with practiced movements; the only goal is to get himself stretched as soon as possible.

“Fuck, wanna see you so much,” Ian repeats, but Mickey ignores his pleads, because he is finally ready. He squeezes more lube on Ian’s dick and guides it to his entrance. It is big, always so big, and Mickey hisses as he sinks slowly, both hands on Ian’s chest.

He is so focused on the burning stretch, he doesn’t notice right away that the younger boy’s face is scrunched up, eyebrows frowning. Ian’s expression looks painful, droplets of sweat on his forehead, and Mickey worries for a second that he has done something wrong.

"That good?" he asks.

Ian’s voice is so fucked out as he rasps: “God, Mickey, yes,” that Mickey feels a tinge of pride in his chest. He doesn’t give himself time to adjust and lowers himself on Ian’s dick to the hilt, rotating his hips once he can’t go down any further. Everything goes blurry. He hears himself moan. Or was it Ian? _Fuck_, he is sitting on Ian’s big dick, his whole fucking weight pushing him down. He doubts that he has ever felt this full in his life.

“Move, Mick,” mutters Ian through gritted teeth.

Gallagher is trying so hard not to fuck up into him his knuckles are white from where he is gripping the chain. Mickey tenses his thighs experimentally, rising and sinking with a grunt. Ian throws his head back and swears a rough _holy fuck_. Good. Mickey repeats his movement, fucking himself down on Ian’s cock again and again, until there is a rhythm and a constant stream of groans and slapping skin. They are far from their neighborhood, surrounded by sound-proof hotel walls, no sirens or screaming siblings within earshot, and the sex noises sound especially loud and filthy in the quiet room.

Mickey rubs his hands up and down Ian’s sculpted torso and leans in to suck more blush onto his nipples. The chain tinkles as Ian tugs on the cuffs again, grunting with frustration when it doesn’t get him where he wants. Immediately, even more curses escape his mouth as Mickey figures out how easy it is to bounce his ass on Ian’s dick while leaning forward and goes to town. He shifts every now and then, searching out the perfect angle and then fuck yes. _Fuck. _There it is. Mickey gasps and moans as his whole body contracts at the sharp pleasure. It feels fucking amazing.

Ian’s eyes are still shut and Mickey suddenly wants him to see how good Mickey moves, how good he can ride him. The thought of Ian seeing his whole body exposed like that on top of himself makes Mickey excited and nervous at the same time.

“Such a tight ass,” Ian praises breathily and Mickey makes a decision.

“Want you to watch me,” he says and leans back, dropping his ass down with a steady rhythm. 

Ian’s eyes fly open and he groans at the sight above him. He looks at Mickey with such fire that he forgets to feel insecure. Ian doesn’t avert his gaze even for a second, looking his fill, taking in Mickey’s bitten lips, quaking thighs and his bobbing cock.

Then he looks Mickey in the eyes and a full-body shiver runs through Mickey at the intense eye contact. Jesus.

“Come here,” Ian breathes. “Mickey, come here.”

Mickey obeys and their lips meet in a fast messy kiss. Ian’s cock hits him just right and Mickey curses out a dirty and happy ‘fuck’ in Ian’s mouth.

Ian smirks. “Come on, show me what all your workouts have been about,” he says, nodding at Mickey’s thick thighs.

Mickey grins. In a minute he is riding Ian with abandon, chasing his pleasure, with white flashes behind his eyes every time Ian’s dick slides against his sweet spot. The once crispy hotel sheets under them are wet and messed up, their bodies covered with sweat and lube. It is dirty and filthy and absolutely fucking perfect.

They don’t break the eye contact at first, but then Mickey reaches out and takes a hold of the headboard. Ian’s head falls back as Mickey uses the leverage and starts bouncing, making the frame creak in complaint. He works one hand between their bodies and begins jerking his cock right in time as Ian starts babbling:

“Oh shit! I’m gonna… shit, Mickey, I’m gonna…”

Mickey grips the headboard and doubles his effort. It feels fucking sublime getting to break a hot fucking man, _his Ian_, apart, make him moan and shudder under him.

It gets pretty fucking aggressive as Ian plants his feet on the bed and starts meeting Mickey thrust for thrust, with Mickey punching out whines and holding on for dear life. Ian’s movements become frantic as he gets closer and closer:

“Like that… Oh god! Yes, just like that! Don’t…”

Ian doesn’t get to finish his sentence as his body convulses and he comes with a growl, hands gripping the chain, biceps bulging. Mickey watches Ian’s face intensely, wanting to catch every way his expression changes from pleasure to pure bliss as his eyes roll up in his head. The sight of Ian falling apart under him is beautiful and overwhelming, and Mickey tightens his fist, working his hand over his dick furiously. He falls over the edge with painful sounding grunts, spilling all over Ian’s stomach, drained.

The orgasm hits him hard and as he comes back to his senses, he realizes that he has collapsed on Ian and is now lying on top of him in a patch of drying cum. Gallagher’s damp chest under his head is rising with heavy breathes.

“That was fucking good,” Ian rasps and Mickey has to smile, because fuck yes it was. And it has always been him praising Ian after sex. Now he has rocked Gallagher’s world and he feels proud and satisfied as fuck.

“Let’s get you out of these,” he says and moves to free Ian from the restraints. He doesn’t miss the way Ian smiles at him with that special smile that makes Mickey’s heart fucking sing. It is too much and he prefers to ignore it in favor of rubbing at the red marks around Ian’s wrists.

“You moved around too much,” he grumbles and Ian laughs at him and bats his hands away.

“We’ll see how you’ll act when I get you in these,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. Mickey rolls his eyes and thanks the universe that his blush is not visible because of how red he already is from the amazing fucking sex they have just had.

But then Ian puts his big hand on his cheek and looks at him so tenderly that Mickey can barely handle it. He closes the distance and kisses him to keep the words from escaping his mouth. The kiss turns into kisses, and Ian reaches for him. Mickey goes into his arms willingly, feeling tired and happy and a little bit scared, because he is probably in love.

“We’re fucking nasty,” Ian whispers.

“Yeah, we gotta shower. Let’s just…” Mickey stops, not knowing how to express his girly need for Ian’s warmth with words. Ian is back. He is here and Mickey can hold him. Mickey is allowed to hold him.

“Yeah, Mick,” Ian gets him as always. “Okay.”

They wrap their arms around each other and it feels like the most important thing.

It is quiet. Mickey’s ear is pressed to Ian’s chest and he can hear his powerful heartbeat. He has no reason to feel safe but he does.

“Let’s stay here,” he says after some time. “Let’s stay here tonight.”

“Yeah, Mick, let’s stay,” Ian agrees and kisses the top of his head.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration for <strike>Dee's favorite paragraph</strike> one of the scenes.
> 
>   
(gif by jackttwist)


End file.
